White Collar Suits Neal Caffrey Novels & Stories

Adrian. He was not in a boardroom suit. That was the first thing I noticed and I noticed it with the specific attention of someone who had spent a year learning that what Adrian Wolfe wore was information. Dark jeans. A navy coat. A grey sweater underneath that looked like something chosen for warmth rather than impression. He looked like a person. Not the Ice King. Not the CEO. Not the man on the covers of business magazines or the principal of the Hope Foundation or the figure at the center of the storm that had organized the first year of my adult life.

Where I embody restraint and control, Cade radiates arrogance, a smirking, slithering affront to everything this room is supposed to represent. His golden-brown hair falls in artful waves that he probably ruffled deliberately to look effortlessly perfect. The deep navy of his suit gleams under the flickering chandelier light, gold accents glinting along the edges. The monogrammed cuffs display our family crest, a brand he wears like a fucking taunt.

Elena had gone with Mose to avoid any suspicion. Stefan stood by the window, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with quiet precision. Unlike most events where he’d just throw on something expensive and call it a day, today felt different. He wore the blazer Mia had gifted him..... a rich charcoal black piece with a sleek finish, tailored to perfection. It fit like it was made just for him, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering at the waist. Simple, yet bold. Just like him. Underneath, he paired it with a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone.... because he hated ties and refused to wear one unless he was forced to. His black dress pants were sharp, neatly pressed, and fell cleanly o

The man that had come to invite Nate to his table had scurried off the minute Spade showed up, Nate's eyes swept through his body, he was putting on a deep navy blue suit, white buttoned up shirt inside, no tie, the first button on his shirt was undone and Nate could see the few chest hair peeking out, and the shimmering necklace he had on. Nate's eyes moved up until they stopped on the hard, emotionless, grey eyes, he swallowed as he watched Spade stare at him, his skin was burning as if Spade's eyes were laser beams and they would cut through to him any second

"What the hell are you wearing?" Ignatius gripped the doorframe of the dressing room, his knuckles white against the dark wood. He didn't come inside. He just stood there, his chest heaving, nostrils flaring as he sucked in the air. The room was thick with it. Sandalwood. Expensive tobacco. The heavy, pressurized scent of a boardroom. It was the only cologne Cane ever touched. Rafferty didn't look up. He adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror, his fingers steady. He smoothed the fabric over his throat, hiding the faint, fading yellow of the bruises Ignatius had left days ago.

“But you heard Kane. We’re not to engage in any sort of activity. Just ignore it.” My wolf snarled in the back of my head, clearly frustrated at my refusal to pursue the issue. Instead, I focused back on the day with my friends. I selected a pair of heels to go with the dress and picked out a dark purple tie for Kane to wear with this suit. After we finished our shopping, the three of us decided to head to the nearest cafe. We put in an order for sandwiches and a couple of ice teas. We settled into an open booth and waited for our food.

Her nails were polished white, and her black leather shoe, glittered. "How do I look Nate?" Carl asked his P.W.A "You look perfectly gorgeous. This outfit matches the occasion. My lady will definitely trip over you once she sights you." Carl, being in his mid 20's and his p. w. a, in her early 30's. Ever since she started working with him, he never saw her once as a worker but as a friend. She knew pretty well things happening in his life. Carl was dressed in a well tailored white suit, with a crisp white shirt, well stuck in. He touched his white silk tie, trying to adjust it properly. He wore an oxford leather shoe, and a Rolex on his wrist.

The morning newspaper crinkled between his hands as he turned the page with practised precision, occasionally lifting his mug of black coffee: no cream, no sugar, bitter as his business decisions to his lips. He was dressed in a three-piece Tom Ford charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. The fabric had that subtle sheen that only came from the finest Italian wool, tailored so perfectly it looked like it had been sewn directly onto his frame. His crisp white Turnbull & Asser shirt was monogrammed at the cuff R.H. in navy blue threading, and his burgundy silk tie was knotted in a perfect Windsor.

Neriah is about to ask if he plans on leaving work before the closing hour because of her, but she isn’t supposed to care what he does with his company. The knock on her door is much expected and Neriah opens to see Cainan still in his work clothes, which is an oxblood coloured suit and trouser and a white inner long sleeve. His hair parted in the middle, giving his face a defined shape and there are a few traces of beards in his face, entailing that he probably hasn’t shaved in a few days. “I’m guessing you’re gonna let me in when you’re done, right?” He asks after a long while of awkwardly watching her check him out.

At that moment, Penny was on a call with Winona and had not heard what he said. Caleb thought she had heard him and that she would get him a gift. He then touched the cufflinks on his suit, the ones she had given him before. They were in the same design that Charlotte gave him. He had already thrown away Charlotte's pair and was wearing the ones Penny gave him. Caleb wondered if she had noticed. However, the truth was that Penny had not noticed at all. She did not pay any attention to what Caleb was wearing. In the car, Penny received a call from the cemetery's staff.